Memoir: 1st bus ride

The morning air was cool and brisk on my skin as my sister and I trudged to the bus stop across the street. We headed towards my new school mates, I gulped and my knees began to tremble. The kids towered over me making me feel like a tiny ant. They spoke so maturely and seemed completely un-phased about starting school. Too them, this day was nothing more than déjà vu. I clung to my older sister clutching her hand tightly within mine. She shot a cold glare at me and tried nudging me off of her until she saw puddles forming in the corners of my eyes. I heard a loud bustle that sounded like one of those huge 18-wheeler trucks I’d seen on the highways. I turned around and there in front of me was this massive burnt yellow contraption on six wheels. It smelled of smoke and gas and it was quite filthy. It was almost as tall as the tree on my front lawn and about as long as three cars, it read “Shaker City Schools” on both sides in black letters, and it had a thick black horizontal line stretching all around it. The bus driver stopped abruptly and the wheels loudly screeched against the pavement. Suddenly, the glass doors opened and a bright red blinking sign, which read “STOP” in bold white font, extended from the other side. All the kids marched to the bus in a single file line. My sister was headed for the back of the line. But still squeezing her palm, I resisted. My legs went numb and stiffened as if they had turned into cement pillars sprouting from the concrete side walk. “Come on Nia!”, my sister urged me, “It’s time for school!”. I took a deep breath in, closed my eyes and exhaled. My boney knees lightly smacked each other while I wobbled up the steps of the bus. The doors shut behind me before I knew it. And there I was contained within the stomach of that huge yellow monster formally known as the school bus.